


Knightian Uncertainty

by doomcake



Category: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Arranged Marriage (sorta), Drama, Established Relationship, Fluff, Homophobic Language, Infidelity (sorta), M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Romance, old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-27
Updated: 2011-04-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 18:19:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11018922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomcake/pseuds/doomcake
Summary: You're helping your lover get ready for his wedding—his, not yours.





	Knightian Uncertainty

**Author's Note:**

> 2017 NOTES:  
> Finally starting to transfer these older fics off of LJ... Needed to find these a better home after LJ got eaten by the Russian servers and the crappy laws they now are living under. Thank goodness for AO3's awesome import tool!!
> 
> Anyway, this was written for a 2011 YamaGoku anthology with a "wedding" theme ([Our 8059 Anthology](http://decimoluce.livejournal.com/33855.html) volume 3), and I'm 99% sure this fic isn't what the thematic intent was, but I do what I want. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The way he breathes your name almost undoes you every time—his voice is rough and gravelly with years of smoking, tongue smooth as it finds his way between your teeth and over your lips. These are the moments you relish, because he finally lets his walls down in front of you (and _only_ you), and you’re able to see who he is to the very core. You see all his fears, his insecurities, his greatest secret strengths, all the wear and tear he typically hides from years of hard work and endless political dealings—the true faces of his dedication to the _famiglia_.  
  
You love him, and he trusts you enough to let you know he loves you in return. That trust, the one you’ve spent over a decade nurturing, is the only thing that keeps you from breaking apart at the seams. It’s almost enough to forgive the fact that he only loves you behind closed doors, because you know that he loves you. And _only_ you.  
  
The way he drags his teeth across the underside of your jaw, his breath hitching against your neck as you move against him—you’re biting your lip to keep noises from escaping, because he hates that, and there’s no way in _hell_ you’re about to break this moment. You can hear voices outside the door of the hotel room—voices you recognize, even—but you can’t stop. Not now. Not when he’s giving himself to you, when he whispers harshly into your ear things that nobody else would ever hear him say. He’s fighting his release too, muscles clenching around you, because neither of you want this secretly shared moment to end.  
  
When it does end, it’s the sweetest half-second where you’re half-supporting him against the wall, and half-trying to keep yourself on your feet.  
  
“I love you, idiot,” he says breathily—just a whisper in your ear, so quiet you sometimes wonder if you imagine it as he pulls himself to his feet and begins pulling on his dismantled clothing.  
  
And when you both leave the room, it’s like business as usual: he speaks in scathing tones in your direction, you smile and laugh and do things that make him raise his hackles, and nobody ever knows any better.  
  
Even though it’s hard not being able to proclaim your love to the world, you don’t care. At twenty-six, you’re the happiest you’ve ever been in your life. (And you’re generally a happy person, so that’s saying a lot.)  
  
  
  
  
  
You’re walking down the street with him one day, just picking up a few things for the shared kitchen back at base. A couple of groceries, a little alcohol, a new blender—the old one broke last night while making your favorite protein shake—just grabbing a few odds and ends. You’re just walking side by side, shoulder to shoulder, enjoying the proximity. You’re not even holding hands, because Gokudera never allows such a public display of anything (except violence and power); you’re simply keeping each other company. It feels nice.  
  
A man walks past you—you don’t notice him from any of the others that you walk past, at least not until you feel his eyes trailing after your backs as he mutters, rudely, “ _Faggots_.”  
  
You don’t react, because that’s probably _exactly_ what the man wants you to do, but you sense Gokudera’s shoulders stiffening next to you. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t say a word and just keeps walking with you—but he also doesn’t even look in your direction as you watch him intently (he has to know you’re looking).  
  
Once upon a time, that kind of barb would have been met with a gnashing of teeth, a string of words sour enough to curdle fresh milk, and a handful of short-fuse bombs. There might have been denial. But you don’t know how to gauge his current reactions—is he ignoring the insult because he doesn’t care if people see him with you, or does he think that letting it slide will make him look less guilty? (Is he guilty when he’s with you?)  
  
He doesn’t say a word the entire way back, so you know he’s thinking about it. It bothers you that he doesn’t speak his mind to you this time, but you also let that slide, because you know him well enough to know when to push and when to let things go unsaid.  
  
  
  
  
  
You’re at the tailor, arms stretched out wide as the balding, robust, short man holds up measuring tape from fingertip to fingertip and barks instructions at you in Italian-accented Japanese. Gokudera insists that a black suit would look best on you, and after putting up with dozens of color swatches next to your face, you’re beginning to agree with him.  
  
He looks dashing in the grey suit he’s being fitted into, you can’t help but notice. Even with the model suit—too narrow in the shoulders, too short in the sleeves, too baggy at the hips—you can’t help but stare, because Gokudera has this tendency to make anything look good on him. Something about his exotic eye shape, the delicate-but-casual way he carries himself… it’s alluring, and you’re still staring.  
  
Gokudera notices, but acts like he doesn’t care—except there’s a hint of a leer twitching at the corners of his lips, and it reminds you that he’s actually pleased you’re paying attention.  
  
It’s a pleasant change from the general crabbiness he’s been aiming in your direction lately. You’ve been dismissing it as stress before the wedding, and you can’t really blame him. The ceremony’s a full two months away, but it feels like there’s too much to do in preparation. Flowers to be arranged, parties to be planned, event security to background check and organize, and a honeymoon to prepare for—there’s a lot on your plate, and on his as well.  
  
At the very least, you know Gokudera will look quite dashing on such an important day. You try to smile for him (it usually comes so easily), but it’s hard when you know he isn’t dressing this way for _you_. Or maybe he is; you can’t really tell anymore. Not when he’s giving you such mixed messages.  
  
  
  
  
  
_Her_ name is Gisella Moretti.  
  
Jealous, possessive instinct tells you that you should hate her—no, _loathe_ her with every fiber of your being. She’s pretty, the daughter of a well-to-do Mafiosi from the southern coast of Italy. She’s intelligent, fun-loving, easy-going, and… well, you’re finding that you like hanging out with her as well. And it pisses you off that you actually don’t mind her (lately) constant presence.  
  
Especially since she’s engaged to Gokudera.  
  
For that reason alone, you want to despise her _so much_ , but it’s just not in your nature to hate, especially when the person in question is so damn likeable. You’re not entirely sure what to think about the whole situation just yet, because you’re still in shock at how quickly the whole thing falls into place.  
  
It begins a few months back, when business deals with a smaller allied famiglia begin to go sour. New management sparks changes in the dynamic between Vongola and Moretti crime syndicate, and in a desperate measure, Gokudera suggests bolstering their alliance by taking a hostage. And by _hostage_ , he means having one of their Guardians marry a key daughter of the Moretti famiglia.  
  
The second the words are out of his mouth, your gut drops as you realize what he’s _really_ suggesting. Ryohei has Hana, Lambo has the diplomatic ability of a bull in a china shop (and Ipin probably wouldn’t stand for it anyway), Hibari and Mukuro are both way out of the question—and that only leaves you and Gokudera. For a moment, you wonder if Gokudera is going to suggest you—but when he offers himself, it _hurts_. It hurts in a way you aren’t expecting.  
  
It hurts because it makes you doubt.  
  
You begin to wonder if he still loves you (and _only_ you); if he ever loved you; if all those moments you shared with him mean nothing to him, even though they mean everything to you. These are the thoughts racing through your mind during that meeting, and they plague you long after you leave. They haunt your sleep that night, leave you exhausted and worn thin the next morning when you wake alone.  
  
You can’t look him in the eye for days after that meeting. Not even when you find out that Gokudera’s bride will be none other than the Boss’ own daughter, and that even just the prospect of the wedding has somehow managed to halt a small-scale black market weapons war. (You had no idea the stakes were so high, but even when you find out, you’re still too hurt and confused to confront Gokudera.)  
  
You manage to avoid him for almost two whole weeks until he finally ambushes you one evening. You’re just coming back from a rough sparring match with Ryohei, covered in sweat and dirt and bruises, but feeling more alive than you have in days. He’s waiting in your apartment when you get back, and the sight of him, chewing on the end of an unlit cigarette as he waits for you, makes you start.  
  
He looks you directly in the eye when you walk in, frozen in place, and says lowly, “We need to talk.”  
  
You laugh, because it’s the only reaction that comes naturally at that moment. You’re fighting every instinct to either kick him out, or to turn around and run, because you’re _not_ ready to talk yet. Not if he’s only going to confirm your worst fears. But instead, you numbly shut the door behind you before turning back around to lean against it.  
  
You don’t even get that far. As soon as you turn around, Gokudera’s in your face, fists bunching the sweaty front of your workout tee, pulling you close before his lips attack yours. You grunt at the sudden onslaught—he’s caught you completely off guard—and when you breathe in, it’s the scent of tobacco and gunpowder and that cologne he always wears for business meetings.  
  
He takes your surprised allowance as permission, and starts battling your lips with teeth and tongue—but all you can think about is _her_ , and it’s then that you shove him away viciously. His eyes are wide in surprise, though that quickly fades as he takes in your expression with a pinched look.  
  
“I thought you came here to talk,” you say acidly, resisting the urge to swipe your hand across your abused lips. “Don’t you have a fiancée to attend to?”  
  
He bites his lip and looks away, and isn’t that just the damndest thing— _he_ looks hurt, too.  
  
“I was only trying to do what’s best for the _famiglia_ ,” he says softly.  
  
You _know_ that—and it doesn’t make any difference in how awful it’s making you feel right now.  
  
“Then you should be making sure you keep the alliance happy,” you reply, your voice still icy even to your own ears. “Gisella is probably wondering where you’ve gone.”  
  
His eyes snap up to yours angrily. “Do you think I _want_ this?” he spits back. “I would give anything— _anything—_ to keep Vongola from getting into a war, not when I know the Millefiore scenario is only a matter of time. We can’t afford to make enemies of our allies, Takeshi, and that’s all this is about.”  
  
You snort. “That’s _all_? Hah! Then explain to me what happens when Gisella finds out that you aren’t faithful to her—or when her father finds out that the marriage is only in name.” Crossing your arms tightly across your chest, you lean forward, pressing your advantage as you see Gokudera take a step back. “You can’t possibly convince me that he would be okay with—” you gesture between you two— “you know, _us_. Especially when you’re married to his baby girl, and even more so because he’s Catholic.”  
  
Gokudera’s clenching his teeth, looking for all in the world like he’s going to either cry, or hit you—or maybe both. It makes you feel at least a little guilty, because you know that he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place right now, and he isn’t getting any sympathy from the one place he could possibly seek comfort from—  
  
Okay, so you’re being a little hard on him. You’re angry because you’re hurting, and you’re taking it out on the one person who you’d hoped would come around and say this was all some kind of big joke.  
  
“Then I guess we have nothing more to talk about,” Gokudera finally says, tone wavering towards the end. But when he starts to walk towards you (and the door), you panic, because this is definitely _not_ how you wanted things to go.  
  
When he reaches to push past you to get to the door, you grab his wrist—and this time, it’s you who initiates the kiss. He starts to growl in protest against your lips, but the second he opens his mouth, you explore one of the many secret sweet spots in his mouth you’ve discovered over the years, and his knees buckle against yours with a moan that sends fire from your lips straight to your toes.  
  
You spend the next several hours tangling up the sheets with him, reminding you why you love him so goddamn much. His breathy, panting groans send you over the edge with each thrust, with each nip, suck, lick, kiss—and you can’t get enough of it. This is a side of him that—well, you’re pretty sure you’re the only one who’s ever seen this side of him. Viciously, you suck and drag your teeth a little too hard on the back of his shoulder (you don’t think about regretting it until you see a mark there later, haha oops), but a subconscious part of your brain is telling you that he’s _yours_ , and no one else’s.  
  
When you’re both sated and exhausted, laying side by side, he rolls over and whispers, _I love you_.  
  
And you can’t help but believe him, because he wouldn’t be telling you this otherwise.  
  
  
  
  
  
After you’ve come to a proper understanding with Gokudera, seeing him with Gisella doesn’t sting as badly as it did before. You know the second you show any sign of doubt in his affection, or in his motivations, he’ll drag you to the nearest closet or bedroom and remind you how much of an idiot you are. (You don’t mind it when he does that, really, so you can’t complain.)  
  
That’s when you stop glaring at Gisella like she’s the devil incarnate—an enemy to be defeated—and more like a regular human being. It’s okay that she’s around, cooking dinner and going shopping and joining in on a night out at the bar. She cracks jokes that make sense to you, has similar taste in food, and even roots for all your favorite baseball teams.  
  
“Gisella said she’d go with me to a Giants game, even!” you say one night to Gokudera while getting ready for bed, though you’re spitting toothpaste as you speak. “She’s never seen Japanese-style baseball, since the only baseball games she can watch regularly are American games.”  
  
“Great. Then why the fuck aren’t _you_ marrying her?” Gokudera snaps back. “You’d make a perfect pair of baseball idiots.”  
  
… Ah, you probably should’ve seen this coming—he’s a little jealous. “Haha, you think so? Shame she doesn’t have your ass, _then_ we’d be talking—”  
  
“Fuck you, asshole.”  
  
You grin, because that’s exactly what you plan on doing to _him_ tonight anyway. (And you do just that, if only to prove your point.)  
  
  
  
  
  
“What’s—is that a _hickey_?” Gisella’s picking at the collar of Gokudera’s dress shirt, frowning as she tugs on the corner to get a better look.  
  
Your heart skips a few beats—you know that if she finds out what’s actually going on between you and Gokudera, the wedding is off. And if the wedding’s off…  
  
“You… you don’t already have a girlfriend, do you?”  
  
_Haha_ , it’s funny that she would assume as much, because you’re hardly a woman. But in all seriousness, this is not going well, and your mind is whirling in an attempt to come up with a way to sidetrack her from this particular conversation.  
  
“No, of course not!” Gokudera’s saying. “I was out by the lake the other night, and there are a lot of mosquitoes this time of year—”  
  
“That’s not a mosquito bite,” she says accusingly. “There aren’t any recent ex-girlfriends floating around that I should know about, are there?”  
  
“You should see the mosquitoes!” you blurt, jumping in quickly and trying to help his case. “They’re _huge_ by the estate lake! I thought one was going to eat me once, haha. It was that big!”  
  
Gisella shoots a stare right at you, through your eyes, and for a second you think it might’ve worked. But then something changes, and you’re not quite sure what it is until her eyes dart between you and Gokudera and then widen like saucers.  
  
“Oh,” she says softly. “ _Oh_. I guess those would be pretty big mosquitoes.”  
  
She doesn’t say anything after that, but it’s pretty obvious (even to you) that the story didn’t take. You only hope that she doesn’t really know what’s going on, because _that_ could cause some serious issues. As much as you hate this whole marriage thing, you don’t want to ruin it, not after Gokudera’s worked so hard to make sure the Vongola and Moretti are on good terms. You let it go, but remind yourself to be more diligent about not leaving hickeys on Gokudera’s neck.  
  
  
  
  
  
As the wedding date draws closer, Giraldo Moretti begins throwing parties to celebrate. And not just two or three parties—he’s throwing one every weekend before the wedding at this rate. They’re almost more like secret covers for negotiation meetings between Vongola and Moretti factions, you think, but nobody else seems to say anything about that.  
  
During the fifth party—a month before the wedding—Gokudera’s on his fifth whiskey when he stomps out to the patio to smoke. You follow him, because it’s stuffy inside anyway. You watch as he takes a long drag on the fresh cigarette, lets the smoke linger in his mouth languidly before he forces it out through his nose.  
  
“Moretti wants grandkids,” he says, after a beat. He doesn’t even look at you, but he obviously knows you’ve followed him.  
  
Grandkids—which would mean that Gokudera and Gisella would have to… Well, you don’t want to finish that thought.  
  
“Haha, is that so?” you lamely say instead.  
  
There’s a beat of silence, and then, “Am I the only one who thinks all of this is bullshit?” he asks suddenly. “I mean, I know I started it, and I’ll be damned if I don’t go through with it, but…”  
  
It’s totally inappropriate, but you can’t help the chuckle that bubbles out of your throat—but even that sounds mirthless. You know exactly how he feels, but you’re not the interfering type, because the last thing you want to do is cause a war.  
  
“What’s so funny?”  
  
“Nothing,” you say, and you mean it. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t like the way this is going.”  
  
He blows a long stream of smoke through his mouth, out over the patio, staring up at the sky. “Hey,” he says finally. “Let’s fuck.”  
  
“We already do—”  
  
“I mean right now.” He looks at you with a mischievous smirk, and you know this night can only either go downhill from here, or can be the best goddamn night of your life.  
  
“H-Here?” You’re having a hard time finding your voice around the lump forming in your throat.  
  
“Of course not right here, idiot.” He drops the cigarette and squishes it out with the toe of his dress shoe. “There’s an unused coat closet, down the hall from the first floor bathrooms. Meet me there in five minutes.” (He stalks off after that, and you realize he doesn’t want you to follow him. Yet.)  
  
So he’s had this planned out, you realize— _haha, of course he would._ Before you can come up with a half-dozen reasons why this isn’t such a good idea, you’re already succumbing to the idea of having him bend over for you in a place so close to the public, and the high chances of being caught in the act are, well, nothing less than _thrilling._ (And, well, you’re glad that when he thinks of sex, he thinks of you, and not of the grandchildren that Moretti wants him to father.)  
  
You wander back into the crowd of people, mulling about and trying not to show how fidgety you’re really feeling, because that would just make you look suspicious. You get your first drink of the night at the open bar, keeping an eye on your watch—two more minutes. With a quick swallow, you down the drink and start making your way to the other end of the party hall, towards the bathrooms.  
  
It isn’t hard to find the coat closet Gokudera mentioned—it’s the only door that doesn’t have a sign on it, and it’s the first door past the doors to the restrooms. Looking around cautiously to make sure nobody else is headed your way, you crack the door open and slip inside, shutting it quietly behind you.  
  
Before you even turn around, his hands find their way to your face as he turns you and pulls you in for a rough kiss. His mouth tastes like whiskey and the cigarette he’d had outside five minutes before, and it’s such a comfortingly familiar flavor that you melt into his hands with a soft groan. He pulls you back between old fur coats left by rich heiresses and mafia wives that won’t miss them, and begins fumbling with your tie and the buttons on your shirt. Your skin burns and tingles with his touches once his fingers slip under the silk of your shirt to press against your chest, and you finally find your senses and start working with his clothes as well.  
  
You slide his shirt off his shoulders before he gets yours undone, and as you pull him closer and explore his mouth with your tongue (and his ass with your hands), there’s a sudden _click_ behind you. You both freeze, and before either one of you can react, the door cracks open to allow just a small sliver of the hall’s light into the closet.  
  
There’s a distinctly feminine _gasp_ —it sounds vaguely familiar—and the door slams shut. That’s what snaps you both out of your frozen shock. You both scramble to try to get your clothes back on straight, and before either of you can get it together, the door opens back up again.  
  
Gokudera opens his mouth to protest, ears flaming against your neck (there isn’t a whole lot of space in this closet, really, and he’s pressed up against you), but the woman hisses him into silence.  
  
“It’s just me!” Gisella says in a harsh whisper, peeking her head around the corner (her eyes are clamped shut, though).  
  
… Oh, _shit._  
  
“Are there any bits hanging out that I don’t want to see?” she asks suddenly, cracking open an eye and answering her own question. “Oh, good— _Takeshi_!” She clamps her own hand over her mouth, looking over her shoulder nervously.  
  
“Ahaha…” it sounds more nervous than you wanted, and Gokudera smacks the back of your head. He reaches around you to pull her into the closet as well, but she follows and shuts the door behind her.  
  
“Look, we can explain this—” Gokudera starts to say, but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand.  
  
“I _knew_ it!” she says (still whispering, thankfully), and she almost sounds _gleeful_ in her revelation. “I knew there was something going on between you two; I just didn’t want to say anything in case I was seeing something that wasn’t there. But clearly I was right!”  
  
She’s grinning, and it makes you very nervous.  
  
“Ahaha, um, isn’t this the part where you hit me?” you ask sheepishly.  
  
She blinks at you, frowning. “Of course not! I had a feeling that this wedding thing would intrude on whatever relationships Hayato already had—though to be honest, I had no idea he was into men until you tried to defend him over that ‘mosquito bite’ on his neck.”  
  
Gokudera smacks the back of your head again.  
  
“Ow! Haha, I’m sorry; I was only trying to help,” you say defensively.  
  
“So now what?” Gokudera asks, serious. “Now that you know about… _us_ ,” he makes a vague gesture that involves you, “where does that leave you and me?”  
  
Gisella looks like she’s thinking about it, and then replies, “I really don’t know, to be honest. Like I said, I’ve been suspicious about you two for a little while, but I hadn’t really thought about it. I guess I assumed we’d continue the wedding as planned, and I… I guess I’d turn a blind eye?”  
  
“That’s too easy,” Gokudera mutters. “You know your father wants grandchildren, Gisella. And he expects me to father them—”  
  
She winces. “He said that, did he?”  
  
“—and as much as I want to keep our famiglia allied, I’m not sure I’m up to giving into that demand.”  
  
Thinking for a moment, she replies, “I don’t know what to do, then. I’m not a politician; I’m just my father’s daughter.” She almost looks sad, but then her eyes snap up. “Oh! That’s what I came here for—Hayato, my father is looking for you. He wants to propose a toast; you should get out there soon.”  
  
“We’ll talk about this later, then,” Gokudera says, standing up and finishing straightening out his disheveled shirt and tie. He shuffles past you and Gisella, running a hand through his hair before he leaves the closet.  
  
Once he’s gone, Gisella looks at you almost sadly, and it makes you feel horribly guilty.  
  
“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. “I really like you—I didn’t want to hurt you, but…”  
  
“It’s okay!” she says brightly. “I knew from the start that marrying Hayato was mostly a political move—kind of like an arranged marriage. I wasn’t really expecting much.”  
  
You frown. “You’re… not angry?”  
  
“Of course not! I just… I was surprised that I liked you both.” She smiles, but it looks forced. “Haha, I guess it’s true that they say all the good ones are either taken, or they’re gay.”  
  
This isn’t making you feel any better, but there really isn’t much you can do about it.  
  
“I’m sorry,” you say again. “I tried to… to let go, but I just can’t, you know?” You look at the door, where Gokudera just left. “I really love him, and I’m not very good at sharing, haha.”  
  
She shakes her head, laughing. “Let’s just hope my father never finds out about this. He’s a staunch Roman Catholic—I suspect that if he finds out Gokudera is _gay_ , it’ll be worse than if he’d simply cheated on me with another woman.”  
  
You grimace; you hadn’t really thought about that, since foreign religions don’t really make much sense to you. But you understand where Gisella’s coming from, so you nod in silent agreement.  
  
“We should probably go join the toast,” she says.  
  
“Mm,” you agree. “But we’re okay?”  
  
She grins. “Yeah, I guess we are.”  
  
  
  
  
  
The wedding is called off a week later—but you’re surprised that it’s Tsuna making the announcement at a small meeting in his office. You had no idea that he knew about you and Gokudera, but Gokudera doesn’t look too surprised when Tsuna finally says something about it. Ryohei looks rather shocked—he probably thought Gisella and Gokudera were getting along quite well. You wonder if Moretti somehow found out about you and Gokudera and called it off. But then again, Tsuna’s looking _right at you_ when he makes the announcement.  
  
Once you realize that, you know _exactly_ what happened.  
  
Tsuna knows. He knows, and he doesn’t like seeing you two suffer for his sake (isn’t that just like him?). You’re grateful, but at the same time, you feel a little guilty because now you’re going to have to help figure out a way to keep peace with the Moretti regardless.  
  
“We’ve found an alternate means of forging an alliance with Moretti,” Tsuna’s saying. “We have some weaponry they’re very interested in, and I’ve agreed to give them a guaranteed cut of our latest so long as our relations stay on good terms.”  
  
Moretti likes the big guns, you think, but you’re not so sure this is the entire story. You wonder if Gisella has anything to do with Moretti being so easy to work with now—maybe she came up with a story as to why she can’t marry Gokudera.  
  
After the meeting, Tsuna pulls you aside and tells you he wants to go for a walk. You’re a little nervous, but you smile and agree. It’s nice outside today, and a walk through the Vongola estate gardens wouldn’t be such a bad idea anyway—especially since you too need to clear your mind.  
  
Tsuna doesn’t say anything until you’re towards the middle of the gardens, well out of earshot of anyone else (including his bodyguards that Gokudera insists have to stay with the Tenth at all times).  
  
“You and Gokudera, huh?” he says. “I wouldn’t have ever guessed, if I didn’t spend so much time with him in the office.”  
  
Startled, you blink at him. “I suppose it would come as a surprise. Especially since he used to make such a big deal about how much he hated me! Haha.”  
  
Tsuna’s smiling warmly, nudging you with his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, though? We could’ve avoided this whole mess with the wedding. Moretti wasn’t very pleased to realize he’s out a few thousand because of all the parties he threw for his baby, especially since it isn’t happening.”  
  
“Haha, I wasn’t sure how you would take the news—not that I think you’d be against it,” you add quickly. “I just… I didn’t want you to treat us differently because of what we do in our own time, you know.” You bite your lip. “But saying it now makes me sound like a jerk, haha. I’m sorry.”  
  
“No, it’s okay!” Tsuna replies. “I just was surprised when I realized it, is all.”  
  
“How did you get him to agree to call off the wedding, anyway?” you ask, the question burning in your mind. “I mean, he was so intent on the wedding taking place that I don’t see how a few big weapons would dissuade him from making sure it was seen through.”  
  
Tsuna’s smile grows a little more. “You can thank Gisella for that. Apparently she told her father that she refused to be a political pawn. Called into question his sense of morality and everything—she insisted that she has someone else she’d rather pursue on her own.”  
  
You try to think of someone she might’ve shown interest in, but the only other person you can think of is… well, _you_. And it’s unlikely she’s going to chase you down, especially after what she knows. The girl has her own secrets, you realize, and it makes you grin like an idiot.  
  
Tsuna stops suddenly, putting his hand on your arm. “Yamamoto,” he says seriously. “I just want you to know that I’m happy for you both. Gokudera wouldn’t want me to say this to him—you know how his pride works—but I’m glad he’s found someone, and I’m glad it’s you.”  
  
The admission comes as a surprise, and it leaves a pleasant, warm feeling in the pit of your stomach.  
  
“Thank you,” is all you can manage to say in return.  
  
  
  
  
  
You’re feeling rather smug as Gokudera moans loudly into your mouth, because when he gets like this, you know it’s only a matter of time before you get what you want. And what you want is him, writhing and squirming and making lewd noises under you. Moving your hands down the front of his pants, he melts into your arms at your ministrations.  
  
“You’re such a jerk,” he pants, pulling away just long enough to start working at your shirt.  
  
“But you love me anyway, haha,” you reply haughtily.  
  
“You’re lucky I do,” he growls, “otherwise your birthday would _suck_ right now—”  
  
“—and you’d be making babies with Gisella?” you supply helpfully. “Although I think you’d make a terrible father, with all the drinking and smoking and swearing you do.”  
  
“Oh shut up,” he says, but there’s a smile on his face as he wraps his arms around your neck and messily plants his lips firmly back on yours. “Happy birthday, dumbass.”  
  
You’re grinning too, because at twenty-seven, you’re even happier than you were at twenty-six.  
  
  
  
**_fin._**


End file.
